


Taut

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AHH, AU, Other, Tumblr, idek, prince of hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel, being born to Crowley, is coming up on the tradition of carrying the torch that ignites hell. The transition into becoming the King of Hell proves to test the angel of darkness and can only be done in the specified time to specified energies. The Winchester, understanding the crowning of the new King, try to find a way to stop (naturally, because that's all they fucking do...y'know, stop shit).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taut

**Author's Note:**

> Aaah, I got the idea from this post. http://castielsthrobbingmember.tumblr.com/post/55160406063/femmestiel-cumberbitchinunicorn It'll be more than just this as well..I just felt like putting it into chapter I guess ide

Bending over, trickles of red slid over plump lips. Dripping here and there at the concrete, blood began to throb; Dean's palms outstretched, gripping, as he fell to his knees. Letting his head loll forward in the fall while breathy sighs fell clumsily from his tongue. His mouth rested open as his lungs grabbed at clogged air; grassy hues, also mottled and muddied now, pulsed up towards the rather stark, shadowed figure that stood just under dark, and practical invisibility. Familiar Scottish ran through the air as the Winchester heaved for oxygen.

_"Aaah, Dean. M'glad you could come to my little celebration."_

Dean, groaning not only in agony, but from sheer annoyance, pushed himself to his palms. Still arching his back like a mutt, his feet sopped back and his lower half was almost immobile. Blood began to seep through his denim jeans; his shirt now drip a deep maroon down to the filthy alley ground. He manages to pull his head up, craning to find any defining feature in the shadowed silhouette. Unable to locate an identity, he continues to focus on catching his breath. His gaze manages to stand towards the sound of booted heels over stone.

Crowley, now stepping from coddled shadows, pocketed his hands as he crossed the alleyway. His face wore a smug Cheshire of a grin as he canted his head down at the twitching, bloodied mass. Panning his glare back to the shadowed figure, he can't help but exhale an entertained hiss. Without switching his orbs down to the crippled male, he murmured a few words.

_"Isn't he just great?"_

He can't help the nod that formed around his head as he breaks the gaze and crosses to kneel a foot or two from Dean's broken frame. Crowley squats, grinning at the puddle of red that now surrounds the writhing Winchester.

 _"F-Fuck off,"_ Dean manages to spit, sending a few sprigs of crimson towards the King.

 _"No way to speak to royalty, boy,"_   the shadow retorts, raising a lazy hand.

Standing tall over the two, he clinches the dark fist in the smog, forcing the Winchester down to a bow. Dean's hand skid over the concrete in front of him while his forehead presses to the asphalt. A dirty yelp clumsily falls over the man's lips as his body contorts at the dark will. The shadow's hand drops. 

Suddenly, a low throttling tone rattled out into the air. 

_"Dean! Oh.. God, no; Dean!"_

Sam Winchester, fists balled, ran urgently towards his filthied brother. Once again, the shadow merely raised a finger that immediately sent the younger Winchester to his knees. 

Beaming at his creation, Crowley spoke into open air, _"May I introduce Castiel to you?...That is, if you care to meet your future king.."_

Both the Winchesters, a few feet from each other, heave for filled lungs and stable bodies. Sam, who was a healthy glow, now looks pale and sickly around the blood that is bending over his skin. Dean, head still down, has clearly finished fighting now that the feeling in his legs has ceased. His bottom, however, sits obediently in the air as Crowley continues. The shadow slowly comes into the stream of light from an overhead lamp. 

" _He's the Angel of Darkness..."_

Cautious brightness falls like silk over jaded and bent jawlines and brows as Castiel finally approaches the group. His hands remain at his sides while the rest of his frame stands with terribly straight and poised purpose. His body is proper as he stops, perfectly illuminated. Face held high, he looks down at Dean while his father elaborates his final point.

" _Next in line for my crown; he is the Prince of Hell."_

 


End file.
